“Are they? I am not so sure. The world is not entirely composed of what you call the younger generation. Are you a specimen of the flappers all these magazines and novels are full of?”
“I am not. Silly little females. Besides, I’m twenty-two.”
“I can’t make out whether you seem to hate men or women more, and you won’t give any reason.”
“I don’t hate women. I only resent being one. If you had been my old grandfather I’d have starved in the streets before I’d have come here.”
“It is a wonder, with your remarkable freedom of speech, you don’t say you would have gone on the streets.”
“Oh, never! I’d have died a thousand deaths first. Not,” she added hurriedly, “because I’d have been too good for it, but because—well, I’d have killed the first man that touched me.”
“Of course you are virtuous,” said the old lady complacently. “All the Carteret women have been. Flirts and coquettes, perhaps——”
“Virtuous nothing. I don’t care a damn——”
“You are not a boy, after all, so kindly refrain from swearing in my presence. The Carteret men swore like troopers, but their women never forgot themselves. And please remember that I am helpless. I cannot rise and leave the room.”
“Sorry, grandmother. I’ll not do it again.”